The Day The Music Died...

It was a hot and gorgeous day in June and over the Grand Canyon, clouds were building that would eventually become thunder storms. Sometimes you think you know a guy...

Being in a deeply committed relationship at the time, and greatly in love, I was overflowing with the need and the urge to help my friends feel the exact same thing. When they were with me, I'd often strike up conversations with beautiful women, just to get my nerdy friends close to one. It meant nothing to me, after all, to be friendly with other women - I was deeply committed, as you know.

Andy, my best friend in the whole world, and I were just about to sit down to a nice quiet lunch in the cafe. We were going to discuss Proust or Hidegar or perhaps compare and contrast the great works of William Shakespeare with whale song. Just as I was about to ask the lady behind the counter for a three bean salad and a crust of bread, Andy spotted three rather attractive young ladies seated in the cafe. I heard his breath stop up and I had to remind him to breathe.

I'll never forget the next words as long as I live. They were so... cinematic. Andy got this strange glint in his eys and rubbed his hands together and said, "My own... my precious!"

I tried to talk him out of it. I tried to thwart his attempts. But Andy would not be dissuaded. He finally trumped all my logic with the short statement, "Talk to me Goose." What could I do? I was his wingman. And you never leave your wingman.

I went in, knowing what a monumentally bad idea this was, and approached the young ladies. They saw me approach and a look of apprehension crossed their faces. Some people have a face for the movies... I have a face for books.

I said, "Excuse me, ladies." And then, in perfect voice, as if I'd been practicing it my entire life, I started to sing.

There have been great betrayals in history - Benedict Arnold at Valley Forge, the entire German army at Stalingrad, 51% of the population at the 2004 Presidential Election - but this was nowhere near any of those.

"You never close your eyes..."

And suddenly, the words escaped me. At the point when I was supposed to turn around and have Andy start to sing, nothing happened. Andy was nowhere to be seen. I was standing all alone in the center of the cafe, red faced, singing to some girls that I didn't even think were all that attractive while my "friend" was hiding somewhere in the shadows - laughing at me.

I weakly smiled and muttered, "Never mind," and then ran away - the most gracious retreat someone who has just been shot down in burning flames has ever had - a victim of friendly fire.

I found Andy, standing around the corner, unable to breathe because he was laughing so hard. I walked up and gave him a big hug and said, "You stink, bro... But I love you!"

Sometimes, as a story writer, I remember that day and the urge comes over me to recreate that scene in one of my books - thus ridiculing my friend forever. But I always succesfully fight off the urge.

I just haven't written the right kind of story yet.